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“Augustine,” the vampire replies absently.

He’s eyeing Maurice again. Surely he can sense that Maurice is higher on the food chain than either of us?

I may not like the supposed necessity of his presence, but I am not fool enough to think that Maurice is less able to handle himself than I am.

“I asked for an audience with the crai alone.”

He says it directly to Maurice, which has my eyebrows jumping. Maurice smiles lazily in response, fangs showing. “If you do not like my presence, you are free to leave. Where the crai goes, I go.”

Not strictly true, but I am not about to press the point. Anyone who is adamant Maurice should not be here is inherently suspicious.

“Please, sit,” I say, instead of voicing any of that. “Maurice will not share any news of your visit.”

Augustine turns his attention to me now, and there’s suspicion in his flat gaze. “Very well,” he says after a moment and takes a seat opposite my desk.

I take the chair behind it, resting my elbows on top. “How can I help you, Augustine?”

“I have a complaint to register, and I thought this might be the most prudent place to begin.”

“Forgive my asking, but you are not part of our clan?”

“No,” Augustine says with a little sniff. “I was part of a smaller clan in Oxfordshire.”

“Was?”

“Most are dead. Tamesis and his wolves saw to that.”

A knot of tangled feelings rises in my chest. Oh, no. “Ah. My condolences. What is it I can do for you?”

“The complaint I wish to make is actually regarding one of the wolves,” Augustine says matter-of-factly, “but I thought to bring it to you first. A wolf killed my partner, Cecil.”

“I… I am sorry for your loss.”

“As am I,” Augustine says. His expression betrays nothing, but that does not mean he does not still feel the hurt. “I have been made aware that the wolf responsible is a member of one of the packs in London and that, so far, he has gone unpunished for this crime.”

“Right.” I don’t know what to do about this, but I know Deacon has been working with the wolves—most of them from Kieran’s former pack—to integrate them either back into their own pack under new leadership or into packs here. “Do you know the wolf’s name?”

“Quinn Murphy.”

I hesitate, just for a second, but Augustine notices, as does Maurice, who sits up a little straighter.

“You know him,” Augustine says.

“I know of him.” I do. And the little I know means there is no chance this will end well. “I can reach out to Alpha Deacon and pass on the complaint.”

“I want more than that, crai,” Augustine says, and now there’s a hard edge to his voice. “I want blood .”

“I understand. But I still have to raise this with him. I will not risk the treaty because we did not attempt to go through proper channels.”

For a moment, Augustine is too tense, muscles coiled as he sits at the edge of his chair. I hold his gaze. I am in charge here. I am. And I will not risk it all because this vampire needs his vengeance.

Either he reads it in my expression, or he knows Maurice will be on him before he can even move because he nods brusquely and gets to his feet. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small card, then places it on my desk.

“You can reach me at this number. I await your call.”

Without another word—or even a farewell—Augustine strides over to the door and out into the hall. Mark gives me a brief, surprised look before he scurries after him.

“Fuck,” I mutter as I lean back in my chair.

“This Quinn is…” Maurice trails off, frowning.

“Part of Kieran’s pack,” I say and wave a hand absently when Maurice gives me a questioning look. “It’s going to be a nightmare.”

Better get it over with, at least. I should call Deacon first, then talk to the chieftains and tell them to keep an eye out for Augustine. The viciousness I saw when he said he wanted blood…

I don’t trust that he’ll wait.

It’s early morning, but Deacon answers on the second ring. “Njáll! How are things?”

“Well.” It is strange to talk to him now. We have had so little contact with Deacon ever since he became alpha, but now that he and Vasile are mated, it is as though we are all trying to have relationships that have never had time to mature.

It does not help, I suppose, that his second has travelled up north to help Kieran’s former pack rebuild after Tamesis almost destroyed them. Chaya was our best point of contact and truly a pleasure to work with.

Deacon is fine but can be ornery, and I am having enough trouble as it is.

“Is something the matter?”

“I have just had a vampire visit,” I say and explain Augustine to him. I explain about the wolf, too, though I do not give him Quinn’s name.

“He wants a challenge, then?” Deacon asks. “I know we have some work still to do, but we’ve been trying to make sure the wolves are all stable enough that any recompense wouldn’t entirely destroy them.”

“I know that,” I say. I know, too, that the wolves weren’t entirely responsible for what happened. Tamesis had control of their pack bonds. He likely bewitched them in a similar way to how those fae at the pub—and Maurice—bewitched me. “All he said is he wants blood. A challenge may suffice.”

“It will have to,” Deacon replies. “We have no other way. He won’t be executing one of my wolves.”

“I know,” I repeat. “You understand where he’s coming from?”

Deacon scoffs. “Of course I do. And he’s showing admirable restraint. But that’s all I can offer.”

“I’ll let him know.”

“Who’s the wolf?”

“I—What?”

“The wolf, Njáll.” Deacon must hear my hesitation because his voice drops lower and more dangerous. “Njáll…”

“It’s Quinn.”

Deacon is silent for a long moment. Then, “No.”

“Deacon, you cannot—”

“No. Another wolf can face the challenge if necessary. I’m sure Kieran will be more than happy to take Quinn’s place. He can’t do it.”

“The vampire said Quinn killed his partner. Is it true?”

Deacon is silent again and I tighten my grip on my phone.

“Deacon! Is it true?”

“Yes.”

My heart sinks. I know Quinn was damaged, both emotionally and mentally, by Tamesis’ hold over him, but I never truly thought… I shake my head.

“He has to take responsibility.”

“The person responsible is dead,” Deacon snarls. “Tamesis is dead and his bones ground to dust. Your vampire can have a ceremonial challenge, or he can have nothing at all.”

He hangs up and I stare at my phone, shocked, before I drop it onto the desk and bury my face in my hands. What am I supposed to do?

A noise has me looking up to where Maurice has moved in and perched on the desk next to me. He peers down into my face, a furrow between his brows.

“You can…” he begins, then shakes his head and tries again. “You can do this.”

I study his face, the sharp lines of it and the way his grey eyes narrow when I don’t reply. His lashes are dark, terribly long, and I’m caught by the sudden urge to try to rub the lines on his brow away.

“I want to chase you,” I say, and it’s only when the words are out of my mouth that I realise how true they are.

I should eat. I should be clear-headed and prepared to deal with all this.

That’s not why I want to do it.

I want him to run. I want him to lead me on a merry chase and when I catch him, because I will , I want to sink my teeth into him and drink until I’m dizzy.

Maurice’s lips part on a faint gasp, and I do not know if it is because of my words or the hungry expression on my face. “Tomorrow,” he says. “We’ll do it tomorrow.”